


everything as bright as fire in the mist

by ronniesshoes



Series: 30 Days of OTP [5]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronniesshoes/pseuds/ronniesshoes
Summary: brian attends a housewarming party/doggy style





	everything as bright as fire in the mist

It had been raining heavily when Brian, straight from work but half an hour late, had run from the bus stop to Freddie’s new flat. Once inside, he’d got a hug in exchange for his housewarming gift — a bottle of wine and a set of mushroom-shaped salt and pepper shakers — and Freddie had kindly lent him a dry but strange, see-through shirt and a towel for his hair, the latter of which he’d politely declined.

It’s a good thing he did, because no matter how much he hates the feeling of wet hair against his neck, he’s sure the frizz would’ve ensured he ended up a far less happy place than where he currently is, pressed against the coats and jackets on the rack in the hallway by one Roger Taylor.

He really is not supposed to be here, but Roger is sucking kisses to his neck, which is horribly distracting, and Brian's heart leaps when he picks out Freddie's voice among the others in the living room. He's pretty sure flatmates are out of bounds, but he's reluctant to remove said flatmate from where he's currently attached to his pulse point. 

"Come on," he murmurs, hand sliding down Roger's back. He’s hot to the touch even through the fabric of his shirt, a strange, shiny green thing, and Brian stumbles when he steps back, eager to follow those sensuous lips, to press their bodies close again. 

They end up in a small backroom, the only room in the flat not occupied despite Freddie's strict orders that no one fucks in his room. It's crammed with boxes and there are only a few square meters worth of space on the floor, but there's a lock on the door and the idea of waiting for someone else to finish so they can fuck on a bed is all kinds of wrong to Brian. 

"Careful," Roger murmurs, hands fisted in lapels of Brian's blazer, "my drums are in there."

"You play the drums?" he gets out as Roger tugs off his jacket and works on the buttons of his borrowed shirt. He lets out a sharp gasp as Roger fastens his mouth over a nipple. 

"It's been known to happen," Roger answers, pausing to blow cool air on the saliva covered nub. Brian's cock stiffens. 

Despite his interest piquing at the words, Brian doesn't think that now is the time to tell him that he and Tim are looking for a drummer, nor does he know if Roger is any good, so he drops the subject and helps Roger out of his shirt. The fabric is shimmery and slippery beneath his fingers, nice to the touch but in that strange green colour, but Freddie's got a few shirts like that, too, so Brian suspects it's fashionable, though he hasn't a hope of knowing. 

Roger's skin is warm and smooth as Brian slides his hands up his sides, lets the shirt slide off his shoulders. He shivers.

"Anyone ever jerked you off with a silk glove?" Roger asks, which Brian thinks is a slightly odd question. He pauses.

"No," he replies truthfully. 

Roger’s lips pull into a sly smile. "Maybe I'll show you next time." 

The words dizzy him even though he’s not entirely sure what they mean, and he crushes his mouth to Roger's, chases his tongue and that electrifying heat. The metal clinks when he unbuckles Roger’s belt, and it makes a satisfying thud when it hits the floor. His trousers are tight and his dick is hard underneath them, and Brian cups a hand around him, cants his hips forward when Roger moans into his mouth. 

Roger’s hands become urgent then, pull at Brian’s clothes until they’re both panting and naked, and then he drops to all fours.

Brian stares for a long moment, tries to take in everything; the strong lines of Roger’s back and the curve of his arse, presented for Brian to take; the lock of blond hair that lies between his shoulder blades; the smooth, pale skin, and Brian can’t believe how willingly Roger gives himself up for him, can’t believe what they’re about to do, and he drops to his knees, slides a hand over the small of Roger's back. 

Roger shivers underneath it. 

"There's lube in my back pocket," Roger says. He looks over his shoulders, catches Brian's eye. "I was hoping you'd come tonight." 

Brian fumbles with the lube, uncaps it and accidentally spills all over his hand. He scissors Roger open first, then envelopes his dick in a tight fist. 

“Come on,” Roger urges, sits back on his heels and twists to press a hard kiss to Brian’s mouth before he gets back on all fours.

Brian drops kisses along his spine, steadies them both with his hands on Roger’s hips, and pushes inside.

"Fuck,” he gasps, his eyes closing as his dick is surrounded by that tight heat, “you're so... uhh.”

He stills when he’s all the way in, opens his eyes to look at Roger, listens to his shaky breaths. He smooths a hand over Roger’s side, and Roger pushes back against him.

“You can go on.”

He does, slides almost all the way out and pushes back in with more force. Roger swears, drops his head and follows Brian’s movements, pulls a groan from him when he tightens around the head of his dick.

"Harder," Roger gasps, shifting his weight before pushing back again, his head shooting up when Brian hits jackpot.

"You're so fucking tight," Brian get out, digging bruises into Roger’s sides. "You take it so well, so good for me."

"Feels good.”

Brian’s thoughts are muddled, reduced to  _ more _ and  _ want _ and  _ yes _ , and he has trouble stringing words together. He doesn't think he's going to last long, and thank God for that, because the wooden floor is not kind to his knees, but he can't quite get there, not yet. 

He folds himself at the waist, his chest sliding against Roger’s back as he drops kisses along the width of his shoulders, listens to the sound of his laboured breathing.

"Close,” Roger whispers, head hanging so low his hair brushes against the floorboards. Brian mouths at the nape of his neck. “I’m so fucking — ”

“What do you need?” Brian murmurs, his pace slow and shallow.

“Touch me,” Roger gasps, “speed up.”

Brian obediently licks a stripe along the palm of his hand and wraps it around Roger’s cock, revelling in the thin moan it produces. “Gonna come for me?” he whispers, and pushes in, hard and deep.

“Yes,” Roger breathes, squirmy and desperate underneath him, “yes, yes, yes — “

"Fuck," Brian swears as hot spurts spill over his hand and Roger goes boneless beneath him. He slides out of him and wraps a hand around his cock. "Can I — "

"Please," Roger says, voice low and gruff. 

Brian sits back on his heels, eyes on the delectable sight before him, and jerks off until he comes, spilling all over Roger's backside.

“Fuck,” he says again, collapsing on the floor next to Roger, unbothered by the corner of a cardboard box which digs into his back. “That was …”

“Yeah,” Roger agrees, accepting a brief kiss before he sits up to inspect the cum on his stomach. “I’m all covered in stuff.”

Brian reaches out to trail his fingers up his spine, briefly dipping into the smatter of his own cum. “So you are.”

“Do you think anyone would notice if I hopped into the shower?”

A roar of drunken laughter sounds from the living room. “I don’t think they would.”

Roger gets to his feet, rummages through one of the cardboard boxes. Brian shamelessly stares.

“Here,” Roger says, throws him a tea towel. “Just give it to me when you’re done, I’ll clean it up later.”

Brian wipes his hands, then carefully his still sensitive dick, and lastly what’s spilled onto the floor. He’s not sure it’s the right order to clean up, but when he steals a glance at Roger, he’s holding his own tea towel and trying to clean his backside.

“Here, let me help you,” Brian says, getting to his sore knees and taking the tea towel from Roger. 

“You should visit again soon,” Roger says, leaning against the boxes, arms folded on top them, “Fred tells me you’re a fantastic guitar player.”

“Really? I’d rather not get Freddie involved in this,” he says, folding the frankly disgusting tea towel and putting it down on the floor. “There. All done.”

Roger laughs. “Not for sex,” he says, turning to look at Brian, “Freddie would kill me if he knew. Do you live alone?”

Brian swallows, his mouth suddenly dry at the thought of possibly repeating this. “I do.”

Roger’s smile is slow and daring. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Brian grabs his wrist, pulls him down for a kiss. “Any plans for tomorrow?”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on tumblr @ ronniesshoes


End file.
